Monday, 20 February 2017

A poem by Mandy Macdonald

wages for housework


‘not working?’
not getting paid, i was thinking as i
rearranged the furniture
staked my best geranium, which hitherto
had been fending quite well for itself
against the windowpane
you’ll not call me in-
efficient (liberating the ex-Oxfam
armchair from behind the door where
no-one ever sat in it)
just hand me that feather duster and

well?
don’t say i never get anything done
you think i’m lazy but i’m just
sensual
and you can’t complain about that
(filing papers in chronological/alphabetical order)
when i have the time i go through the motions
making new rooms for old
getting paid
getting laid
getting laden
with guilt is getting
nowhere

ha! there’s a pound here
down the side, i knew it

the geranium nodded its heavy scarlet head
agreeing with every single word i said








Mandy Macdonald lives in Aberdeen, trying to make sense of the 21st – and earlier – centuries. Music and gardening keep her sane. She lived in Cuba for a while in the 1980s, and it still pops up now and then in her poetry. She has been writing poems for most of her life, but only recently could be persuaded to show them to anyone. You can see some of them in the anthologies Outlook Variable and Extraordinary Forms (Grey Hen Press), Poetry Scotland, The Fat Damsel, Triadae, Far-Off Places, Three Drops from a Cauldron, Ground: Poetry, faith and doubt, and elsewhere.

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